


My Heart Is Broken

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short while after that day on the beach, Charles decides he can't do this anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart Is Broken

There were days when Charles Xavier needed quiet.

Most of the time, those were few and far between. Too many children, too many lessons, too many students asking him questions, too many worries and laughs and too much _thinking_ for him to truly shut it out.

Sometimes he needed the silence so badly he couldn’t breathe for the pounding in his skull; some instances he was so besieged he just _knew_ he was going to vomit. He’d roll to the lavatory attached to his rooms and sit in the chair next to the toilet, waiting, feeling the churning in his stomach, listening to the _voices voices voices_ that he couldn’t shut off and anticipating the retching that would come –

It never did. Somehow he managed, somehow he persevered, somehow he lived through those days with a tight smile etched on his handsome face, lips taut and dry, heart slow and methodical, his brain the only thing that acted on the feelings he could not fight. His and everyone else’s.

He loved his students. He loved his life, loved the direction and the mansion and the classes and the poor, confused mutant children he’d taken under his wing and had begun to shape in a way that would have them living productive and (most importantly) happy lives, not hated or feared or shunned. His lifelong worthy goal, his adventure, his most prized thing.

And then there were days when he needed quiet.

Rain arced from the sky in shimmering waves; the gazebo that newly decorated the back acres of his lawn covered and lovely and flower shrouded so no one could see him. They could probably find him if they really looked hard, but Sean and Alex did a good job of seeing he had the time to himself.

He’d gotten there just as the first of the rain had begun to fall; his chair was the best Hank had made yet, and he wasn’t worried about parts rusting or getting ruined. His clothing was damp, though, his hair dripping a bit into the back of his collar, the corduroy pants he wore with the dark brown sweater not so comfortable in the shade of the gazebo, the wind blowing bits of wet at him where he sat near the edge of the thing. He didn’t care much; what he cared about was the silence and a place to think without destroying the minds that existed all over the campus of his school and perhaps those the town over as well.

The past was the past was the past, and yet – rain, always rain brought up thoughts he didn’t want to imagine and didn’t want to see again.

Yet they were all he could see, all he could feel and ruminate on and he felt his head pound as the memories and truths began to whirl like tiny tornadoes, tearing down the walls he’d so expertly built after so many years. He threaded nimble fingers, those fingers that touched his temple, so small and so full of insidious power he laughed at the size of them, tiny and flesh and blood and bone, so easy to break, through his lank, wet hair and rubbed at his skull.

 _crackTHOOM_

He did not open his eyes, despite the scream of the thunder and lightning, despite the heaviness of the rain, despite the weight and darkness of his heart, that thing that still beat despite the amount of battering it had received.

Most days Charles Xavier didn’t think on that, but there were some times when it was all he could think of.

 _Why are you here?_

He didn’t speak the words aloud, for he’d been able to feel Erik’s mind the second the other man had taken the helmet off. Erik floated lazily to the floor of the gazebo, his left hand turned palm up, the helmet tucked under his right arm, the cloak and suit he normally wore replaced by a black turtleneck (Charles had to repress a slightly hysterical laugh) and black slacks. His steps were light on the ground, and he approached Charles, all the strength in his body evident, no fear, no worry. But Erik couldn’t hide anything from Charles, never could, especially when he’d removed the metal protection he’d been so fond of wearing since the Beach Day.

“Charles.” The voice was rich and deep and as melodious as it always had been, and Charles found himself gritting his teeth as he opened his eyes to look at the rain blasting down, a weapon nature forged of her own design. A brilliant weapon. “You’re getting wet.”

“Your point?”

Charles had weapons too, and his mind and his use of language were as one, sharp and painful and a double edged thing when he wanted them to be. Erik raised an eyebrow as he sat next to him on the bench that surrounded the whole small building.

“I don’t have one. I am merely making conversation, as you seem to like that sort of thing.”

Erik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hair scraped back from his large forehead from use of the helmet, his aquiline nose as angled as a knife. Charles blinked and looked down at his hands that sat in his lap, small soft things, but part of him, part of the power that surged through his damaged body, and he smiled, the expression strange and foreign as he looked askance at Erik’s profile, the rain pissing down at the periphery of Erik’s head.

Such a fragile thing, a brain.

 _Erik, there are thousands of men out there, innocent men, men who are just following orders!_

 _I’ve been at the mercy of men following orders. Never again._

Charles rubbed at his temple as he sat forward, mimicking Erik’s posture.

 _Why are you here?_

Erik shook his head and tilted it, resting his chin in his hand. “Why don’t you answer that for me, Charles. Out loud.”

The thunder shook the gazebo and the alloy chair Charles sat in. He wondered in a moment of self pity that rivaled his dreams (only as a child; he’d never admit to anything else) when he could stop suffering around this man. When he could stop being pulled inside out, or when he would be able to forgive. When he might (God forgive him) forget what Erik had done, what Erik had meant to him, what Erik had destroyed in the blink of a red smoked puff.

The smile that he’d let blossom grew into a full blown laugh, the resonance of his voice rumbling his chest, making it vibrate in a way that hurt his inner ears. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and when he was thoroughly finished with his self-flaggelation (it was unbecoming) he lowered his soft hand, and rested it on Erik’s thigh.

Thick muscle bunched under his fingers, and Charles watched the wet fall from the sky, and _I’m tired of waiting_ listened to Erik’s thoughts, which he knew the other man wasn’t making any attempt to hide. He licked dry lips and _you left me long before I left you, Charles_ came echoing out of the dark head that lay so precariously next to his own. Unprotected, open, raw for the taking –

 _You left me long before I left you, Charles._

“You killed Shaw while I was in his mind.”

Erik did not flinch. The gloom of his mind swirled with black and smoke and to navigate it became a mine field, a treacherous trench that was constantly strafed with gunfire, grenades exploding on the outskirts, bits of metal and things Charles saw but did not want to see infiltrating the muddy wet place that Erik inhabited. He kept talking.

“You left the children that trusted you alone, confused, minds easy to manipulate, to believe anything either one of us might say.”

Soft breathing, the muscles under Charles’ fingers not moving save normally. The rain fell.

Charles squeezed, caressingly lightly and the only movement from the black clad man at his side was the rise and fall of his chest.

“You took my sister from me and you seduced her and bonded her to you.”

Erik merely raised an eyebrow; Charles had been hoping this last part wasn’t true, wasn’t part of the rumor mill he’d been hearing (and plucking from weaker minds), but seeing the reaction and the brief image he was fed (on purpose, maybe, even though Charles knew Erik probably didn't realize it)…he felt something catch inside his chest, the tinkling of a thousand glasses breaking.

“You left _me_.”

This time Erik jerked as if hit. But his mind, when Charles searched it again, was a blank morass of red and shadows Charles could not identify nor get a clear picture of. He blinked his dry eyes and spoke again, one more thing, one more thought, just one more. And then he was finished, with this man, with his heart and with his attempt at loving something and someone love could not latch on to. Charles wanted desperately for that concept to be false, but – he wanted it so badly, so badly his chest ached and his teeth clamped down on his tongue momentarily, not wanting to say the words he knew he had to.

“You left me on that beach, to bleed into the sand.”

Erik stood abruptly and crossed his arms over his chest, the strong muscles that banded his shoulders tight and unmoving and Charles could picture his back, could picture the scars that crossed his body, could feel them under his fingers. He lay his hands back in his lap and fought the temptation to take it all back, to tell Erik it didn’t matter, that he was the other part to Charles’ half and he loved him regardless of the many damaging and horrid things Erik had done to him, no matter that Erik in and of himself was incapable of judging the impact his actions had on one Charles Xavier.

The simple fact was that while Charles might act, Erik only _reacted_ , and therein lay the rub. And the all encompassing hurt, and the fact that no matter how hard Charles tried, no matter how much he attempted to show the truth of his heart to Erik it didn’t matter.

 _Does it matter? Do I matter to you at all?_

Erik did not turn, and spoke to the rain.

“You are the only thing that matters, Charles.”

Charles laughed, a great cawing bird that exploded from his chest and tore chunks of his heart with it.

“If that were true, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He rolled forward but only for propriety’s sake. “ _Turn around_.”

Erik turned, a puppet on a string. He made an incredulous noise and raised his left hand, the rims on Charles’ chair squeaking as they crunched inward. Charles did not react; he touched his temple and Erik bent at the knees, folding gracefully, head the only thing Charles did not control.

The rain _susurrused_ around them in gentle drops, the rainbow that had broken through the cloud cover out of place in the black sky. Charles let his hand drop slowly and clasped both of them together, his sweater finally dry as he met Erik’s eyes, unflinching, devoid of emotion, the blue of his gaze flat and unreflective.

“Don’t come here again. Don’t contact me, don’t ask for me through my pupils. Don’t even _think_ of me or I will do worse than merely control your flesh, Magneto.”

Erik’s face was impassive, but Charles could hear Erik’s hidden truth, a tiny and fragile thing, and he had to swallow, once, as he kept speaking. Charles’ fingers trembled, but he kept his hands threaded together and did not betray his emotions or the red thumping thing that was hammering inside his chest. He cocked his head and after a thought, released his control on Erik, who took two stumbling steps toward him, face now twisted, hands raised, the left one turned and pointed at Charles.

“Go ahead. The iron in my blood is enough for what you need,” Charles said softly, his brain screaming at him to _stop you fool it’s enough_ but he smiled his beatific smile and took his own turn raising his eyebrows. The bird that had broken through with his torn heart earlier was flapping around Charles’ head, shrieking and clutching the organ in its talons, triumphant and sated.

Thunder claps and water – the rain was slowing, but the two men took no heed of it and faced each other down, friends, brothers, everything there was a word for and yet more than any mere human description could be said to try and explain.

“You just proved my point, again, Charles.”

 _Us, turning against each other. It’s what they want. I tried to warn you._

“You left me to bleed alone.”

Charles wanted to take it back, wanted to call back the words the moment he said them, but it was far from too late and he closed his mouth and allowed them to ricochet around the gazebo, anger and rage _getting the job done all this time._

Something in Erik’s face twisted, hollowing out his bones, the lightning flashing in the clouds turning him into a grinning skull that was bleached white and grey, shadows, no color, nothing but bone and hidden recesses that Charles couldn’t see into. A burst of white noise from Erik’s brain, and Charles had to shut his eyes in order to take in the intensity of the battering ram of images, broken feelings and tiny whispers of hope that died in Charles’ possession.

Erik took a short step to the bench he’d been sitting on and retrieved his helmet, slipping it on over his reddish hair before Charles could say anything to stop him. It was new, Charles noted oddly, red and silver and ostentatious and so Erik he barked a laugh that made his nose and teeth throb.

“And you left me with no choice.” Erik’s mouth barely moved, even as he closed the gap between where Charles sat and he stood. The other man reached out his left hand, grazing Charles’ cheek once with his long fingers, then jaw and lastly touching Charles’ bottom lip, lightly, tiny butterfly feet, a dusting of fairy sprinkles, magic, forgiving, hate and fire and Charles swallowed, tightly.

Erik rose into the air gracefully, no look back, no more words, and he was gone in a breath that burned Charles’ nostrils and lungs. He forced himself to not crane his neck in order to see the other man leave, to feel him one more time, to concede that Erik was flawed and broken and had no other recourse but to do what he did to Charles in the few months they’d been together.

 _Why are you here?_

 _Why don’t you answer that for me, Charles. Out loud._

“There is always hope,” Charles murmured the words, even though Erik couldn’t hear him, even though he could barely hear himself. He said them even though he knew them for the lie they were.

Strange how none of that mattered now.

Charles touched his temple and called for Hank to come help him; with his rims bent he couldn’t leave the gazebo and the younger man replied with a quick _on my way_ without questioning what had happened. Charles was thankful for that.

There were times when Charles Xavier needed quiet.

And there were other times when, no matter what he’d told Erik, he needed – would need – strength and noise and the touch of a man who was as broken on the inside as Charles was now. As weak as Charles was now. As lonely and as damaged and as ravaged and destroyed as Charles was now.

He held the armrests of his chair loosely and waited for Hank to arrive with the tools.


End file.
